Talent
by amitai
Summary: Harry PotterAlex Rider Crossover. Aged eleven, Alex Rider receives a very special letter. How will this change things for our favourite teenage spy? :D
1. Chapter 1

(cringes) OK. I know, I know, I shouldn't start a new story when I've got about 400 unfinished ones floating around, but – the plot bunny bit me, and the bite swelled up, and it ached, and wouldn't let me forget about it, so finally, I settled on the only antidote I could think of – writing the damn plot.

Remind me never to try an extended metaphor again. They suck.

So, anyway. Here, you have my Harry Potter/Alex Rider crossover. And, I want you to know that this is _insane_. I _never_ did crossovers before. _Never_. Then I did the Doctor Who one, and suddenly the crossover bunny has taken up residence in my life. It's horrible, but they're way too cute to kill off… :D

And again with the extended metaphor.

Here it is, then. An HP/AR crossover. Hope you like, folks!

DISCLAIMER: Rich people own Harry Potter and Alex Rider. I'm poor.

* * *

Aged eleven, Alex Rider was an intensely practical little boy. His uncle, Ian – never, _ever_ to be called Uncle, under any circumstances whatsoever – was an intensely practical man, and his approach in raising his nephew was simply practical. Other children got fairy stories, and other children grew up believing in magic and witches and wizards. If Alex read Greek myths, it was to further his knowledge of the classics; and the nearest he ever got to witchcraft was when his uncle gave him 'Macbeth' to read.

Alex was a bright boy – he was the top of his class at Brooklands School, partly because his uncle insisted that he worked hard, and partly because he was naturally intelligent. He had never found lessons difficult; particularly languages, which he seemed to have a natural aptitude for.

Anything strange that happened around Alex – and plenty of things did, he just couldn't seem to help it – had a practical reason, which Ian would readily supply. Sometimes, Alex thought that Ian just didn't want him to do anything out of the ordinary; and sometimes he thought that it was just because he never did. Things like shattering the glasses in the kitchen cupboard when he got angry; he must have been screaming loudly, or the frequency of his voice caused them to break.

They both ignored the fact that Alex never screamed.

Or, when Alex was set the task of weeding the garden, neither of them ever acknowledged that the reason he managed it so quickly was because of anything out of the ordinary; he was simply very fast.

Everything in the Rider household had a rational and logical explanation.

His uncle, despite rarely ever being there – his job meant that he travelled a lot, and, in any case, Alex knew that the man wasn't that fond of children, including Alex himself – insisted that Alex take part in various out of school activities: karate, swimming classes, a 'Young Adventurers' Club, and extra lessons for his "outside school" languages, such as Russian, Spanish and German. Technically, Alex was fluent in Spanish and German – he had lived in Spain and Germany for a year each when he was six – but Ian Rider felt that it was important that Alex 'keep up' with the languages. He even had piano lessons for a short while, but Ian eventually made him give them up.

Ian was not a bad guardian, he was simply an absent, rather grumpy, bad-tempered one. When he was home, he generally simply ignored Alex, treating him as one would a rather dangerous wild animal; something to be looked at from a distance, but handled with care, and subdued if necessary.

Alex knew what his uncle classed as 'subduing', and he tried never to induce it. Ian's punishments were never physical – he would never have dreamed of hitting his nephew – but they were arduous and boring, and time-consuming, and generally hammered the lesson home far better than a beating ever could.

* * *

Ian was, as usual, not there for Alex's eleventh birthday, on June 6th, but Jack, the housekeeper, was, and a couple of Alex's friends dropped by during the day, a Saturday. Ian's present somehow appeared that morning in the post, as it always did – a set of book tokens, about forty pounds worth, with the man's customary note, saying that he was 'sure Alex would spend it wisely'.

In fact, Alex's eleventh birthday passed much like any other normal Saturday. The really interesting thing happened about a fortnight later, two days after Ian had got back from another 'business trip'.

At breakfast, on the Saturday morning, an owl flew in, through the open back door, which Jack had propped open because it was so hot. Jack herself screamed, leaping up, as the owl perched on the back of the chair next to her; it ruffled her feathers at her, but stared, fixedly, at Alex.

"What's it doing?" she asked, tentatively, once she'd calmed down. Alex was staring at the bird, fascinated, and Ian was glaring at his cereal. The bird itself was sidling along the back of the chair – then it stuck it's leg out at Alex, who frowned, rather confused.

"I – think it wants me to take it." He said, slowly.

"Then do it, and get the damned thing out of the house." Ian said, sharply.

Obediently, but with a slight frown, Alex took the letter from the bird, with a rather shy 'thank you'. The owl blinked at him, but made no move to leave. Finally, Jack began, cautiously, to hustle the thing out; it squawked, indignantly, and flew out – but Alex noticed that it perched on the window ledge.

He looked down at the letter, which was written very thick, yellow paper.

_Alex Rider, The Second Bedroom, Number 4, Pilmore Street, Chelsea, London, SW1 GN7._

He turned it over; on the back, there was a large wax seal, like he'd seen in his history textbook, with four animals on it, and some sort of motto at the bottom. Glancing up at Ian, he saw that his uncle was frowning darkly at the letter.

"Can I – open it?" he asked, carefully.

Ian looked away, turning back to the morning paper. "Of course you can." He said, frowning still.

Alex shrugged, and broke the seal.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot)_

_Dear Mr Rider,_

_We have the pleasure to inform you that you have received a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will find attached the list of books and equipment you will need for the school year. As a Muggle-born student, you are invited to attend a series of lectures, which will take place in the Flamel Auditorium, the National Wizarding Theatre, Insident Alley; please see the enclosed list for the date and subject of these lectures, and directions to the Theatre. On August 15__th__, a teacher will meet you in the Leaky Cauldron, to escort you around Diagon Alley, and answer any further questions you may have._

_The school year will start on September 1__st__, and we expect your own no later than July 31__st_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall (Deputy Headmistress)_

He bit his lip, to stifle his gasp, and looked up at his uncle. "It's a joke, right?" he said, rather worriedly. "I mean…" he laughed, awkwardly. "It is a joke, isn't it?"

Jack took the letter from him, read it through, and laughed, rather more sincerely than Alex. "Oh, come on, Alex, it's gotta be a joke. 'Supreme Mugwump'? I mean, what the hell is that? 'Mugwump'." She laughed again. "It sounds like some kind of illness…"

Ian cleared his throat, and they both turned to look at him. "No." he said, quietly. "It's not a joke."

Alex looked at him, and frowned. "How do you know?"

"Your mother…" his expression darkened somewhat. "Your mother was a – witch." He glared, darkly, at the strange letter. "I'd hoped you'd escaped all that nonsense, but, if you haven't, you haven't." When he looked at Alex, he looked strangely hopeful. "You know, Alex, you don't have to go, if you don't want to…?"

Alex thought, seriously, about it, then said, slowly. "No… I'd like to go. If that's alright."

Ian drooped a little at that, but when he next looked at Alex, his expression was rather steely. "Fine." He nodded. "Your mother took your father and me to this place, once. I'll look through her old things; there might be something there which would be useful." He shrugged. "I'll take you up there tomorrow."

Alex cheered up at that. "You've got some of mum's old things?" he asked, interestedly.

"Of course I have." Ian grunted, obviously uninterested. "You can have them if you want."

Alex nodded, eagerly. "Yes, please…"

Jack handed him the letter back, shaking her head, with a grin. "Sounds mad to me, Alex, but if Ian says it's true, I guess it must be." She stood to refill her cup with coffee, and ruffled Alex's hair on the way. "But, if you come back from this place and turn me into a toad, I'll never speak to you again…"

Ian, rather reluctantly, it had to be said, helped Alex draft his reply to Hogwarts, which Alex carefully wrote up on a piece of letter paper – and, at the bottom, his uncle wrote a small postscript, signifying that he gave his consent.

Then Alex gave the letter to the owl, which had waited patiently for it, and watched it fly off.

As of that moment, in his own mind, at least, he was a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was an amazing thought.

* * *

That afternoon, true to his word, but unenthusiastic in the extreme, Ian went up into the attack, and brought down two big trunks, which, he said, were Alex's mothers.

"That one's full of old junk." He said, kicking the one which had the same crest painted on the lid as had appeared on the letter Alex had received that morning. "Textbooks from that school of yours, photographs, weird clothes…" he shook his head. "You're welcome to it." He opened the other trunk, and rummaged around inside it for a couple of seconds, then appeared, with a deeds box of some sort.

Opening that, he rummaged through several sheaves of the strange heavy, yellow paper – when Alex asked why it looked like that, Ian had grunted rather irritably, and said that 'his kind' were 'a bit odd' and still used parchment – before grabbing something, and surfacing with a triumphant noise.

In his hand, he held a little golden key which, he told Alex, was the key to his mother's bank account with the wizard's bank.

"I'd been thinking about sending you away to public school at thirteen, anyway." Ian told him, rather gruffly. "Been setting aside money for it. I suppose this is a sort of public school; from what your mother said, you people have a different sort of currency… I'll see about changing some sterling into that, and putting it in this bank account of hers."

He helped Alex move the heavy trunks into his room, then paused before leaving, and said, very seriously, "Alex, if I let you go to this school, I want you to promise me one thing."

Alex looked at him, curiously, and said, slowly, "OK…?"

"I want you to keep up with your normal subjects, alright?" he said, talking quickly. "I want you to take your GCSEs like a normal person." He shook his head. "I remember your mother talking about it, saying how difficult it is for – for someone like her, like you, to live in the _real_ world. You need to have options, you know, Alex?" he looked at his nephew, eyes grave. "You're a clever boy; I'll organise tutors for you in the holidays, explain that you're – I don't know, I'll think of something. I'll get them to send you homework. If you're going to go to this school, that's my one condition. You understand, Alex?"

Alex wrinkled his nose at the idea of working during the holidays, but nodded, slowly. "OK." He agreed, quietly. Ian nodded, rather awkwardly, and made to go – but just before he left, Alex said, quietly, "Ian."

"Yes?"

"All those things I did – breaking the glasses, the day my teacher lost his voice when he was telling me off, that day I thought I flew, instead of climbing the climbing frame… Was that magic?"

Ian's shoulders slumped a little, and he sighed. "I suppose so, Alex." And Alex didn't think to question the sad, defeated little catch in the man's voice.

* * *

When Alex woke the next morning, he was almost totally convinced that the events of the previous day had been a dream. There was no way he could have been accepted into a school of magic. No _way_.

With a sigh – it had been way more interesting than most of his dreams – he got up, rubbing his eyes, and headed to the bathroom.

On his way to the door, he tripped over something large and heavy. Looking down, he saw a trunk, with a crest painted on it, bearing the legend, '_Nunquam titillandus draco dormiens_', and his mother's maiden name – 'Helen Mortimer' – painted in big black letters underneath.

Alex stared for a couple of seconds, then ran to the bathroom, and hurried through all of his morning preparations.

Finding his own Hogwarts letter, with a little curl of excitement in his stomach, he quickly read through it again, before flicking open the locks on his mothers trunk, and opening it.

Inside, he was met with a neatly organised set of belongings, which he began to go through.

In one side of the trunk were books, which Alex picked up and looked at with interest; some of them, he could tell, were far, far too advanced for someone who was only just beginning to learn about magic, but others were fascinating for him – and several of them were, he noticed, on the booklist which Hogwarts had sent _him_.

Knowing his uncle as he did, he was sure that he would give him an allowance to buy his school books, and if he could use some of his mother's old ones, he would be able to buy far more interesting ones than simply the required textbooks.

Though, it was entirely possibly that Ian would let him buy however many books he wanted, within reason. His uncle was like that; if it was books, he tended not to worry too much about the cost.

One of the things which fascinated Alex was a long wooden stick, which lay on top of a pile of voluminous black capes, which were also emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest, and which Alex assumed were part of the school uniform. When he picked up the polished stick, his hand tingled, a slight – very slight, but noticeable none the less – warmth spread up to his wrist.

Alex was completely certain that this had been his mother's magic wand, and he grabbed one of the 'first year' spell books eagerly, and was about to say a spell of some sort, when his uncle opened the door, fully dressed, and looking rather grumpy.

"Put that thing down, you'll have your eye out." He said, sharply. "Come downstairs, eat your breakfast, and we'll go and get whatever it is you need for that bloody school."

Alex bounced down the stairs eagerly, and wolfed down his food, waiting impatiently for his uncle to finish his own.

The man shoved the gold key he'd found yesterday in his pocket, along with a scrap of parchment, and asked Alex whether he had his school supply list. Alex ran upstairs, fetched it – hurriedly ticking off the list the books which his mother already had – and they finally left the house.

* * *

Ian took a taxi for once, to Charing Cross Road, then got out. He stalked along the street, and said, to Alex, "Look out for a pub. From what your mother said, s'called the 'Leaky Cauldron', or something like that…"

Alex was the one who finally spotted it, though he had to point it out to Ian several times before the man could see it – his uncle muttered something about 'damned sneaky wizards', and they headed over to the pub.

On entering the pub, Ian headed over to the bar and, consulting the strip of paper, said, tersely, to the ancient barman,

"How do you get to…" he glanced down at the parchment again. "Di-ag-on Alley." He said the word slowly and carefully.

The barman smiled at him, and grinned then down at Alex. "Muggleborn, eh?" he asked Alex, kindly, giving Ian another quick, rather wary smile. "Tell ya what, sir, I'll letcha through this time, and tell ya the secret, and then your son can do 't for hisself when ye've got 'im 'is wand."

Ian nodded, impatiently, not bothering to correct him about Alex being his nephew, and the old man led them out behind the pub, into a little back yard, bare except for a couple of overflowing dustbins. There, he pulled out a stick exactly like Alex's mothers – _his wand_, Alex thought with an excited grin – and tapped one of the bricks.

It began to tremble – then to melt outwards, and outwards, and outwards, until an entire archway had appeared in the once-solid brick wall.

"And that's Diagon Alley." The old man said, proudly. "Now, young sir – when ye've got yer own wand, ye just tap th' third brick in on th' left, seventh row down, OK?" he grinned at Alex again, and nodded politely to Ian, then disappeared back into the pub.

Alex stepped through archway, and looked around, with wide eyes.

This street – Diagon Alley, or whatever it was called – was… Well. There was no other word for it. It was _magical_.

* * *

OK, yeah, lame ending... but I hope you liked it!

lol, ami xxx


	2. Chapter 2

By god! Inspiration for this story?

See, my problem with this story is that I want them to _get_ to Hogwarts already. And they're not. And it's very, very frustrating. But, hopefully, they should be there by next chapter. Hopefully.

Right! So, this is detailed, I think, because I want Alex to have a much firmer basis in the Wizarding World than Harry does, and detailed is a way in which I can cross reference myself, rather than just make up later that Alex did such-and-such, which lead to such-and-such.

And all of that made sense in my head.

:D

A couple of people mentioned that they didn't like Ian being so harsh - well, that's just how he is, kind of. He's better in this chapter. But the reason for him being like that is two-fold, and they both have to do with John. Firstly, Alex looks very much like John, and Ian doesn't want to get too emotionally attached to him when he knows how his relationship with John ended - which would be why he was so insistent on Alex being able to defend himself, I think, and why he trained him like he did - but also, against that, the reason he was _so_ harsh last chapter is that he has this image of Alex as a kind of - kind of, I'm not talking major psychological disturbance here, but a little, possibly - a miniature John, and Alex being a wizard takes him just a little bit further away from that ideal of him that Ian has, which must be difficult for him.

Right, anyway! Well, I hope you like this, and - um - don't hurt me for Samuel? He has a definite purpose, I promise.

DISCLAIMER: I own neither the Harry Potter nor the Alex Rider series. I do, however, own their plushies. And who says I need the money, anyway? (defiance) :D

* * *

Even Ian stopped and stared for a couple of minutes, before squaring his shoulders, looking down at Alex, and sighing at the look of utter amazement on the boy's face. A world with magic in it would seem fantastic to a child, until they realised that such a world – no matter how many magic tricks it involved – would have to have laws and legislation and policemen, just like any other society.

Ian debated, for a few brief seconds, whether he should point this out to the boy, and then shook his head. After all, Alex was only eleven, and a little idealism could be a good thing.

"Come on, Alex." He said, rather more gently than before – since he'd decided on this path for the boy, he might as well let things take their natural course now, no point fighting a rear-guard action when it was obvious from the boy's face that the fight was already lost – and, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder, steered him into the crowded, narrow street.

Alex was enchanted – very nearly literally, when a woman's Calming spell, aimed at one of her children, went wide, and he was only pulled out of it's way by Ian's quick reactions – by Diagon Alley. The long, cobbled street and tall buildings fascinated him, and the shops which lined it were incredible. _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_ was the first shop he saw, and he had worried – momentarily – that Diagon Alley was going to be like Oxford Street, crammed with clothes shops which held no interest for him whatsoever – but Madam Malkin's rubbed shoulders with _Flourish and Blott's_, an impossibly tall bookshop, with windows displaying huge, interesting tomes with names like, "_A Thesis on Wand-Movement – To Swish, or Not to Swish?_" and "_Gringotts – A Goblin Thing_", and "_A Vindication on the Rights of Wizards_". Alex could hardly wait to visit.

But Ian steered him firmly up the street. "Bank first, Alex." He said, practically. "And I want you to remember exactly what happens here – someday you're going to have to do it for yourself, maybe sooner rather than later, so pay attention, OK?"

"Sure." Alex nodded. Ian often made the point that Alex had to be as much of an independent adult as he could possibly be, given that he was only eleven years old, and, after years of repetition, it was starting to make a certain sort of sense to him. After all, Ian wouldn't always be around, and, given his apparent distaste for all things magic, Alex could hardly expect him to come with him to Wizarding London every time he needed to visit.

Gringotts was large and imposing, and very cold. The foyer could not have been grander and less welcoming; the chill coming off the pristine white marble was enough to make Alex shiver a little, and Ian, normally a model of self-control, paused a little on entering.

One of the desks was free, and Ian – after his brief, almost unnoticeable pause – strode over to it, waiting patiently until the goblin behind it deigned to look at him.

"Can I help?" it asked, with a sharp, assessing smile, taking in Ian's smart but distinctly Muggle clothes, and Alex's bright interested face with a glance.

"I would like to transfer some – Muggle," Ian hesitated a little over the word, as though he found it a little distasteful, "Money into an existing account." he finished, voice cool and calm.

The goblin's – for Alex assumed, after the book title he had seen in the window of the bookshop, that the wizened, sharp-toothed creatures sat at each desk were goblins – gaze sharpened a little, and his eyes lingered on Alex's face for a few moments, before nodding, sharply. "You have the key?"

Ian nodded, handing it over, and allowing the goblin to examine it closely.

"This particular account has been inactive for over ten years." It said, finally, brandishing the dull – probably brass, Alex thought – little key as though it held all the answers for that particular announcement. "It requires the blood of a family member to unfreeze it."

Ian looked at Alex, who bit his lip. "So – me, then." He said, as clearly as he could, hoping very much that his voice didn't shake at all.

The goblin peered down at him, with a faintly unpleasant little smile. "If you say so, sir." Alex nodded, and swallowed. "Hold out your hand, please."

Alex held his hand out to the goblin, palm up, and it pricked his finger, sharply, with what looked like a miniature stiletto knife. Alex winced a little, and watched, in sick fascination, as a fat drop of blood dripped onto the piece of parchment the goblin held out.

For a second, nothing happened – then, with a faint glow, the blood disappeared, absorbed into the parchment.

"Everything seems to be in order, sir." The goblin's smile was a little – a very little – less nasty now. "I will have Grimshank take you to your vault. Your – guardian – can stay and organise the transfer of money into your account."

He handed Alex the key; it was now a bright, clear gold. Alex offered it back to Ian, but the man shook his head, with a tight smile.

"It's your account, Alex – you need to look after that." He looked back at the goblin. "I expect you send regular statements?"

"Once a month, sir." It nodded. "When you return, I will give you your family file for the account." It was talking to Alex now, completely dismissing Ian, the obvious Muggle. "It was returned to Gringotts after your mother's – demise."

Alex nodded, unsurely, not knowing how to treat that information, and Ian gave him a rather awkward, reassuring little smile, but then another goblin was in front of them, giving them a cursory, rather unwilling little bow, and asking him to 'step this way, please' in a voice that implied it would rather be anywhere else but dealing with them.

* * *

Alex was awed by the sheer size of Gringotts, underground – and he thoroughly enjoyed the ride down. When they reached Alex's vault, number 302, the goblin – Grimshank – said, in a bored voice, "You'll have to use your key, young sir – your vault hasn't been upgraded."

Fishing the key out of his pocket, Alex said, curiously, "What do you mean, upgraded?"

"All the newer vaults have touch sensitive doors." Grimshank told him, disinterestedly. "Your vault is one of the older ones; it still uses a lock."

Alex frowned a little but let it pass, as he opened the door. He was properly impressed by the amount of money inside; it seemed to him that there must be millions upon millions of golden and silver coins in there. "I'm sorry," he said, politely, to Grimshank, "But – what currency is this?"

The goblin gave him a look of withering scorn, and said, in the tone of one who was talking to a complete idiot and was all too aware of it, "Galleons, _sir_." He glanced into the account, and, apparently, even he was impressed by the amount of money in there, by the slight widening of his eyes – but that was the only sign of it. "The gold coins are Galleons – the silver ones are Sickles – the bronze are knuts. Seventeen sickles to the Galleon at the moment, and twenty four knuts to the sickle."

"Ah." Alex nodded, and tried to look like he understood everything which was being said to him, committing the facts to memory, for proper assimilation later, and looking around for something to put the money in. He had a feeling the Grimshank might actually just leave him here if he tried putting it in his pockets. 

With a long-suffering sigh, Grimshank reached into the cart, and pulled out a small leather sack. "Standard issue, _sir_." He said, the faintest hint of a sneer in his voice. Alex tried very hard not to feel cowed. "That will be three sickles. Five sickles if you want a Notice-Me-Not charm on it, seven if you want a weightless charm, and ten if you want a limitless charm. One galleon, three sickles, if you want all three."

"Um… I think… just an ordinary bag will be fine." Alex said, offering the creature a rather weak smile. It gave him a blank stare in return, so Alex turned back to his account, scooping several generous handfuls of coins into the bag, and pulling it shut. "Er… thank you, I think I'm finished now…?"

"You need to lock the door, sir." It reminded him, tiredly, and Alex blushed, darkly. 

"Oh. Yes, of course." He fumbled with the lock, and ended up red to his ears by the time he managed to get the door properly closed.

He was relieved to get back to the foyer and Ian, who had apparently managed to sort out all the legalities of transferring the money, and was waiting for him by the door.

"Have you got everything?" the man asked, quietly.

"Yes." Alex nodded, firmly. "Can we go now? I really don't like it here."

Ian smiled a little at that, but just said, "You mustn't let yourself get too worked up about emotional reactions, Alex. Most of the time they're not at all useful; and this place is just a bank, no matter how rude the staff are."

Alex nodded again, thinking it over. Sometimes, he wished his uncle didn't always make so much sense.

* * *

Outside the bank, Ian made Alex go to the Madam Malkin's store for robes, saying, reasonably, "It's the only clothes store we've seen that looks like it might do school uniform." He paused. "Actually, it's the only clothes store we've seen, so it's going to have to be there – unless you're intending to go to school without a uniform?"

Alex agreed, reluctantly, though he was careful not to show how reluctant he was to go clothes-shopping; Ian wasn't a fan of Alex being 'tantrum-y', and it generally resulted in being sent to weed the garden, or put the books in the sitting room in order, or some long, boring task. It just wasn't worth it. 

In the old-fashioned store – which somehow seemed much larger than Alex would have thought from the outside – Ian asked about things like school shirts ("Plain white, dear, you can get them from Marks," was the reply, and the man had looked a little shocked that wizards would know about Marks and Spencer's), and school ties ("Just get plain ones, any colour you'll like, they'll change to match his house colours when he gets Sorted – same for the jumpers, and the robes, you know…), while Alex was taken into a little backroom, and measured for his robes and school trousers.

There were a couple of other people there; a girl, in one corner, about sixteen or seventeen, was being measured for something or other, and having great swathes of light, shimmering material held up to her eyes and hair, to see if they matched – and then there were a couple of kids, both about Alex's age, up on stools and being measured.

One of them, a thin, rather lanky, dark-haired girl, looked at Alex, and said, in a wary tone, "Hogwarts, I suppose?"

"Er… yes." Alex nodded, a little surprised at being spoken too. No one spoke to him normally, when he was dragged shopping with Jack; but then, he wasn't often measured for his clothes in the 'normal' world, so maybe things just worked differently here. It would make sense, after all. "You?"

"Of course." The girl returned, looking him up and down. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision, holding out her hand, and saying, "Daphne Greengrass. Who are you?"

"Alex… Rider." He added, quickly, since the girl seemed to expect a surname, taking her hand, and giving it a quick shake.

Daphne frowned a little. "I haven't heard the name. Your parents were wizards, of course."

"Well – my mother was." Alex shrugged. "Not my father."

Daphne's frown darkened considerably. "Oh. A Half-Blood, then…" she bit her lip. "Well, who was your mother?"

"Helen Mortimer." The frown lightened a bit, and Alex wondered why. Hopefully the talk he was supposed to have later in the holidays would answer questions like why being a 'half-blood' was so bad. 

"Oh, you're a Mortimer, then." Daphne nodded, as though this decided something. "You'll be in Slytherin, then, I expect – just like I will be, of course. All the Greengrasses are in Slytherin." She leant forwards a little, as much as she could while stood on a stool, being measured, "If you want to get in with the right crowd, I'd drop the 'Rider' nonsense. The Mortimers still have a degree of respect… even if you _are_ a half-blood off-shoot."

Alex was about to give a sharp retort to that, as sharp as he could give a girl, anyway – 'half-blood off-shoot' indeed – but then the young man measuring the girl announced that she was finished, and Daphne hopped off her stool, favouring Alex with a tight little smile, and saying, haughtily,

"I'll see you at Hogwarts, then, Mortimer."

"Yes." Alex said, simply, meeting her eyes coolly, and without a smile. "I expect you will." He wanted to add that she could drop the 'Mortimer' nonsense, but something in him urged caution. As Ian would have said, there might come a time when being a 'Mortimer' might come in handy, and it was never wise to block off avenues before you knew whether you were going to need them.

She gave him one final, assessing glance, somehow a little more interested in him now, and turned away. Alex heaved a sigh of relief, and glanced at the other boy, to see if he knew what to make of it all.

Whoever he was, the boy looked positively miserable. Alex shrugged, and would have ignored it – he was eleven, after all, and eleven year old boys are hardly known for their empathy – when the other boy spoke up.

"Do you _want_ to be in Slytherin?" he sounded curious, and more than a little nervous.

Alex gave him a friendly, stranger's smile. "I don't actually know what Slytherin _is_ yet."

The boy offered him a rather weak smile in return. "It's one of the Houses at Hogwarts. There are four."

"Oh?"

"Yeah – Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. After the Founders."

"Oh." Alex nodded, slowly. "Which one do you want to end up in?"

"I'll probably end up in Hufflepuff." The boy said, glumly. "But my gran says I have to go into Gryffindor, if I can. Everyone else in my family's been in Gryffindor, since Ethelbert the Eager, in 1198." His voice held the dull ring of one reciting something that they have been told over and over again.

"But which one do you _want_ to be in?"

The boy looked a little confused – apparently, that wasn't a question that anyone had ever bothered to ask him. "Well…" he considered it. "I suppose Gryffindor would be good – they're the house for the brave, you know, which is why I probably won't get there, but it would be cool anyway. But Hufflepuff wouldn't be too bad, I guess. Professor Sprout is the Head of House, and she's the Herbology teacher, and that's about the only subject I'm good at, so…"

Alex grinned. "Then maybe if you went into Gryffindor you'd find other subjects you're good at, too…?"

"I don't think so." The boy shook his head, but his eyes were thoughtful. "I think I'd be too scared of everyone finding out that I'm a coward." He paused, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, did you say your mum was a Mortimer?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah, but I don't know why that's a good thing. Or is it?"

"Well, they're an old, old family – like mine. Not important, not like the Malfoys, or the Dumbledores, or the Blacks, or the Gaunts, or – a whole load of others… but old. That's important for some people – like the Greengrasses." 

"What _is_ your name?" Alex asked, curiously.

"Neville." He said, "Neville Longbottom." He gave Alex a quick look. "Please don't laugh at my surname, I know it's stupid." He added, in a long-suffering tone.

Alex feigned ignorance. "Nothing stupid about it." He said, and was about to go on, when Neville was given the all-clear to go, left with a rather warmer 'see you at Hogwarts' that Daphne Greengrass's, and Alex was left alone in the fitting room.

* * *

When he got out, Ian told him that he had to get everything he was going to need at school before he could do any of the interesting things like finding a wand, and going to the bookstore, or even getting an owl.

"I suppose you'd better have one." Ian agreed, a little reluctantly. "A good sturdy one, though, so I can send you the homework from your tutors."

Alex was too practical to argue with that assessment, and let it pass; either way, he still got an owl, and that was the main thing.

He raced through all the boring things – a cloak, which apparently Madam Malkin's didn't sell, nametapes, which she _did_ sell, but which would take a couple of hours to do – "There's a bit of a backlog at the moment, sorry, dear!" – a cauldron, size two, in pewter, as was the recommendation, some vials, a nice bronze set of scales and a standard Potions Kit in the Apothecary's; from an Astronomy shop – which secretly fascinated Alex, though Ian looked frankly disapproving – he got a very good telescope, and managed to convince Ian to get him an elaborate star-chart, by playing on the fact that it was 'all for his education'.

From there, they headed to Eeylops Owl Emporium, where Alex had a fantastic time trying to choose one of the many fluttering, blinking, and often shrieking birds, and finally settled on a rather nondescript, but strong, friendly-looking barn owl.

"What do you think you'll call him?" Ian asked, as they headed down to the wand-shop Mr. Eeylop himself had directed them too.

Alex considered it for a moment, looking at the bird in the cage, which looked back at him with solemn yellow eyes. "Ted." He said, with a grin, just to see Ian wince, which he obligingly did. "No, seriously… I don't know. Maybe there'll be a good name in a book somewhere."

Ian sighed. "The bill at the bookstore is going to be huge, isn't it?"

Alex shrugged. "If you like, I'll give you back the book tokens that you gave me for my birthday, and use the equivalent of forty pounds in – galleons – in that bookstore?"

Ian shook his head. "Don't worry about it." He said, with a wry, slightly sad smile. "You need to know everything about the situation before you go into it; it's looking increasingly like books are the only way you're going to get told anything valuable."

Alex nodded his agreement, and they walked on in silence for a few moments. "Ian…" he said, slowly, after a long pause – the wand shop was, according to the Mr. Eeylop's instructions, right at the other end of the very long street, "When I was getting measured for my uniform, a girl there was talking about half-bloods, and she said something about my Mum… about her surname, and how Mortimer was a really old surname, that – 'still carried some weight', or something."

Ian frowned a little. "Helen said all that had stopped." He said, almost as if he was talking to himself; but Ian never talked to himself, so Alex knew that he must have been addressing him.

"All what?"

Ian looked down at his nephew, and shook his head. "Look, Alex, after you've got your wand, we'll go and have lunch somewhere – maybe in that pub – and I'll explain as much as I know, which isn't much. And then you can get some books on it; there's bound to be plenty, OK?"

"Sure." Alex nodded, a little confused, but dropped the subject for the moment.

* * *

Both of them stopped for a few moments when they reached the wand shop – "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC". It was far from impressive; the window display consisted of a dusty velvet cushion and an old wand, and the paint on the door, and on the old-fashioned, paned front-window was peeling. The sign squeaked a little, and was faded – but even so, the little shop seemed to require respect.

Inside, it was dark and musty; the air was thick with something, something that made the hair on the back of Alex's neck stand up, sending a tingle through him. There were two rickety chairs, one of which Ian sat on, carrying the weightless bag Madam Malkin had provided for a 'mere three sickles'. Alex set his owl down on the floor, reasoning that it might be rude to put her on the chair, and waited, peering around the little shop. He would have been lying if he had said that he wasn't excited about getting a magic wand, but he was doing his best to stay still. The shop had an air rather like a library; the idea that someone – or possibly some_thing_ – would pounce on him if he made too much noise seemed all too likely.

After maybe ten minutes or so, a tall, thin, white-haired old man appeared in the doorway to the back of the shop, and peered down at him with milky eyes. For a moment, Alex thought that he was blind; but then he realised that the man was actually looking at him, despite the silvery colour of his eyes. As he came forward, and the light got better, he seemed to get older, and older – Alex could almost believe that this man founded the shop in 382 BC.

"Alex Rider, I presume?" The man rasped, and Alex cleared his throat, taking an uncertain little step forwards.

"Um…yes. Are you Mr. Ollivander?" 

"Of course I am." He said, calmly. "You're here for your wand, of course?"

"Well, yes."

"Ah, of course…" he waved something forward and continued, "I remember selling your mother her wand – which is your wand-hand?"

"My right, I guess…"

"Excellent… yes… your mother's wand is an interesting one, ash, ten inches, phoenix feather, a very light wand, not usual at all…springy, very good for charms, but not bad for Defence Against the Dark Arts… I trust she still looks after it?"

Alex, distracted by the tap measure which Mr. Ollivander had waved forwards, and which had measured just about every length on his arm, and was now trying to measure his earlobe, snapped to attention at that question, and noticed how Ian stiffened behind him. "Um, no, sir…" he said, very quietly. "She died a while ago. Ten years ago, now."

Mr. Ollivander stilled for moment, apparently as near as he could get to sympathy. "Oh, my dear boy." He said, very softly. "I am so sorry. You-Know-Who, I suppose?"

Alex frowned, confusedly. "No, sir… she died in a plane crash, with my father."

"Oh! I rather assumed…" he waved a hand in Ian's general direction, and the younger man shifted, shaking his head. 

"No, I'm his uncle." He said, quietly, and Ollivander let it go.

"I _am_ sorry; please do forgive me for the blunder." He said, rather briskly. "Now, your own wand…" He brushed past Alex, to some tall shelves, biting his lip, and touching various boxes, occasionally glancing at Alex, before making a selection, "Here, try this one." He handed Alex one of the thin boxes, which Alex opened, staring down at the wand in something like confusion. "Well, go on then, boy, give it a wave!"

Alex waved it, awkwardly, but nothing happened.

"Right, not that one…" the old, old man seemed almost energetic now. "So, what about this one?" He thrust another box at Alex, who, in bewilderment, took the stick out and waved it around. "No, fine…"

Maybe ten or fifteen wands later, Ollivander handed him another box, which Alex took in a daze. He had never imagined that getting a magic wand would be so much like trying on a pair of shoes. 

But this one was different; he could feel the wand through the box, and the box itself seemed warm. He knew, long before he took it out, that this was the wand he wanted.

When he opened the box, he looked at the wand very carefully before taking it out. When he finally did, he didn't even need to wave it; a firework of gold and silver sparks showered from the tip, and Ollivander smiled broadly at him.

"Success!" he said, with an almost conspiratorial look. "Now, let me see… rowan and dragon heartstring… hmm… female Hungarian Horntail, as I remember it, and such a fight she put up… but it made an excellent wand, I think… this is a very powerful wand you have here, Mr. Rider, very, very powerful. And one must always be careful when one is given power."

Alex nodded, only half paying attention, fascinated by the thrum of the wand in his hand. He gave it an experimental swish, and jumped as the spare chair exploded with a crash. Ollivander gave him a stern – yet strangely understanding – look.

"That is why." He said, softly, taking the wand from Alex, and heading for the desk, where he wrapped it up, and wrote up the bill. "Power is all too often used to destroy things; and I see so many young wizards here every year, excited at being able to do magic, and I have to wonder about the wands I sell them, Mr. Rider; what will the do with them?"

Alex stared at him, wide-eyed, and was relieved when Ian steered him out of the shop.

"Creepy, self-righteous old bat." His uncle muttered, once they were out on the street, and Alex couldn't help but smile; it was so completely out of character for his uncle to criticise someone in front of him that it couldn't help but seem funny.

* * *

They headed back down to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, and Ian made sure they were in a corner table, almost isolated from the rest of the noisy, smoky little pub, and waited for their meals to arrive before he began the tale.

"OK." He looked a little uncomfortable. "Look, Alex, before you were born, in the – Wizarding World, or whatever they call themselves, they had, like, a-a Civil War. And there was a good side and a bad side, the Light and Dark, your Mum said they called themselves. According to Helen, some families were Light – she named a few, but I only really remember a couple, the Weasleys and the Dumbledores, bloody stupid names they are… and then some are Dark. And…" he paused, thinking his words through. "You know how, in the aristocracy, there are important families – like the royal family, or the Dukes of Norfolk, or somewhere like that – and then there are smaller, less important ones?"

"Yes…?"

"Well, according to Helen, the important Wizard families are like that, particularly the Dark families. And there are some important ones – I can't remember the names – and then some not so important ones." Alex could tell that his uncle was seriously dumbing the information down for him, but was, on the whole, rather grateful for it. It was difficult enough to take in anyway. "And, apparently, your mother's family were an old, Dark family, but not that important, in terms of status. Relatively wealthy, yes – though your mother was the second child, from what she said, and she tried not to have anything to do with her brother after her parents died…"

"Wait, her brother?" Alex asked, surprised. "So I have _another_ uncle, on Mum's side?"

Ian pursed his lips a little, and nodded. "Yes. You'll probably meet him soon."

"Really?" Alex grinned. "But – why haven't I met him before?"

"Helen specifically said that she didn't want him near you until you got a letter for that school – it was in her Will." Ian said, voice a little stiff. "And, miracle of miracles, he actually paid attention to it."

"Oh." Alex shrugged. "OK. Thank you. So – what was this Civil War?"

"The Dark Side – no Star Wars jokes, Alex, I'm not in the mood," he warned, as Alex opened his mouth, eyes dancing with mischief, "was led by some kind of psychopath calling himself 'Lord Voldemort' – he's the You-Know-Who everyone's talking about."

"But he didn't win, right?"

"No, he didn't…" Ian paused for a long moment, taking a drink of the 'pumpkin juice' which they had been given with an expression of faint distaste. "But… they were very dark times, even for normal people…people were disappearing for no reason, and if John hadn't married Helen, I would never have known why…"

"But surely it didn't really concern you at all?" Alex asked curiously. "I mean, you work for a bank, it wouldn't really bother you?"

Ian shrugged. "You wouldn't understand, Alex…" he said, smoothly. "Banks do badly when people are scared, they don't invest, they don't want to do transactions, they don't want to buy things. The economy stagnates."

"Ah." Alex shrugged off that information, only half of which made sense to him. "So, what happened? How did the Dark person get defeated?"

"According to your mother, it was thanks to a little boy, about your age, I suppose – but I don't really understand it." When Alex looked up at his uncle, strangely shocked at such an outright admission of fallibility, he found that his uncle's expression was deeply, deeply sad. "But the boy's parents died defending him. Helen said to me, when she heard, and when she tried to explain it to me and John, how glad she was that it hadn't been you, and them, that they didn't have to leave you behind. And then, under a month later, they both died."

Alex didn't know what to say to that. He had lived with Ian for so long, and had been so perfectly happy with the arrangement – yes, Ian was strict, but he wasn't harsh or cunfair, and he did seem to love Alex, in his own rather distant way – that he had never really missed his parents in anything more than an abstract way. He had never known them, and Ian had made sure that he never wanted them too much, and he wasn't sure how he should respond to such a statement.

"Sorry?" he tried, awkwardly, and Ian shook his head.

"Never mind." He said, rather shortly, and changed the subject abruptly.

* * *

When he got home that night, absolutely shattered, his head buzzing with new ideas, Alex did nothing more than hug Jack, give Ian a beaming, sleepy goodnight, and stumble up to bed with his new things. He didn't even read any of the fascinating new books he had bought; he fell straight into bed, and slept.

Jack followed him up, shortly afterwards, after chatting with Ian for a little while, and tidying up the kitchen, saying that she'd been longing for a bath all day, and Ian was left in the kitchen alone, drinking his coffee, expression tired and thoughtful.

After maybe half an hour, he stood, stretching and heading over to the sink to wash out his empty coffee mug. Just as he set it down, full of water, to soak for a bit, there was a loud 'pop!' behind him, and he whirled round, hand moving to grasp the nearest weapon, a carving knife Jack had just washed up.

He didn't relax on seeing who it was.

"Ian." The other man said, with a cold, courteous smile. "It's good to see you again."

"Samuel." Ian nodded. "I wish I could say the same thing."

"It's been a while."

"Thankfully."

"You should be much more polite; we're family, after all, Ian."

Ian kept his expression neutral, saying, coolly, "Is that your way of saying that I should be much more frightened of you?"

"Oh, no…" Samuel Mortimer drawled, "I don't suppose anything has ever frightened you, or your big brother – what was his name? Jonathan? Jack?"

"John."

"Oh, yes, of course… Well, it's been such a long time since they died." He shrugged it off. "Anyway, I suppose your fearlessness comes in handy in your profession."

"Very often, yes." Ian agreed, blandly. A moment's silence, before he said, too casually, "Now, are you here for a reason?"

"I would like to see Alexander." Samuel said, calmly. "He has received his Hogwarts letter, and I want to see him."

"_Alex_ is asleep at the moment." Ian said, firmly. "And why so interested? You hardly bothered with him at all before; as I remember, you didn't even bother with his christening, and that was before Helen said you weren't to come near him."

A brief spasm passed over Samuel's face, an expression almost like pain. "My wife died a few years back." He said, precisely, in a cool voice which left no room for emotion. "We had no children, and I will not be marrying again, so as it stands, Alexander is my heir, and he must be properly taught."

Ian paused for a moment. "I am still his legal guardian, heir or no heir." He said, warningly. 

"Of course, please." Samuel brushed it off. "I have absolutely no interest in raising him." He said, dismissively. "But the boy is a Mortimer, and he must have a proper Wizarding career." 

Ian frowned. "The 'boy' is a Rider, and he will have _options_." He corrected, without heat.

Samuel stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged. "We will see." There was a brief silence; finally, the taller man spoke up again. "You need not worry that I will interfere in the way you raise him; I have no desire to get that involved. In fact, even if you were to die," his voice was completely bland and without emotion, "I would not be allowed to take him in, even if I wanted to – which I don't." his mouth twisted wryly. "My 'moral status' is not good enough to be trusted with a child, apparently – even if I did want to saddle myself with my sister's brat."

"I'm strangely not surprised." Ian said, smoothly, and gave the other man a wide, disarming smile, which he returned, tightly. "Fine. Neither Alex nor I are busy tomorrow; you could come and meet him then."

"Tomorrow will be fine." Samuel nodded. "About two in the afternoon?"

"Fine." Ian nodded. 

"Thank you." It sounded grudging. "Until tomorrow."

Ian blinked, and the other man was gone.

* * *

And there we have it. Like?

-ami xxx


	3. Chapter 3

Firstly, Happy Maundy Thursday, everybody!

Well. Here we go, then - Talents Chapter 3. I hope you all enjoy!

I'm not totally happy with this chapter... Something seems to be - missing from it. I don't know what, exactly... it just didn't seem to flow very well. (shrugs) That's my reading of it, anyway. Feel free to tell me what you think, though! Since I wrote it a while back, and have been tweaking the damn thing for about three months, I figured it was about time to post it.

I'm sorry this has been such a long time coming, and it's entirely possible that the next chapter will take an equally long time... I tend to prioritise my stories, and this one just doesn't come that far up the list. Still, I hope you alllike it!

A couple of peopleon the very interesting boards said that they don't feel Harry Potter/Alex Rider crossovers can work... I see their points, but I'd be interested to know what people think, of the concept in general, not just this story. Anyone else got any thoughts on the matter? 

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and Alex Rider _are_ mine. Suckers! You all fell for that 'J.K. Rowling' and 'Anthony Horowitz' nonsense! They're mine, mine, mine!

...because I'm totally not an English schoolgirl too immersed in revision to write anything more profound than a shopping list. Nooooo... 

* * *

Alex woke that morning to streaming sunlight – it was, after all, early in the summer holidays – and nearly fell out of bed in his eagerness to start going through the books he and Ian had bought yesterday. Aside from all the school books he needed – the syllabus had obviously changed since Helen went to Hogwarts, since the great proportion of the books had changed as well – Ian had agreed that he needed books such as '_An Introduction to Wizarding Customs'_, and various others, on history and standard customs. Ian himself had even bought a few books from there, saying, rather gruffly, that it was only natural that he should learn about his nephew's world.

For a second, he deliberated over how he was supposed to go about this; all the things he needed for school were piled up around the room in brown-paper-wrapped parcels, and old-fashioned bags, his new trunk was outside his door on the landing – to Alex's complete shock, Ian had agreed to get him a trunk with a magically-secret compartment, on the basis that 'sometimes it's useful to be able to keep secrets' – and his mother's two trunks were still in his room. There was no way he could fit all of this into his room; it was large, but not huge, and it was already crowded with his mother's trunks. Alex paused, then fell to his knees in front of Helen's old school trunk, opening it, and methodically sorting through what was inside, as Ian had taught him.

He set aside the uniform – it was the girls uniform in any case, old white shirts, and the school skirts and girls jumpers and robes, no use to Alex at all – and started on the rest of it. The wand he kept out, slipping it into a drawer in his bedside table, sparing a brief moment to wonder why his mother had decided to leave it behind when she went on holiday with his father, when their plane exploded. Surely it would have been useful?

Shrugging off that thought, he went back to the trunk. Helen had obviously put all of her school things in here, and most of it was boring, or something he already had – a half used up Potions Kit, for example. Noticing that most of the ingredients were more interesting and exciting than the ones in his own, he debated whether or not to take them 'just in case', but then reasoned that they were probably too old and stale to be of any use. Helen's scales, her telescope, and all the other standard issue implements were returned to her trunk – but there were some other, more interesting things.

One such item was what looked like an hour glass, in which blurry and indistinct figures seemed to be moving – what fascinated Alex was the way it seemed to balance on the finest point, unmoving, a faint murmuring hum coming from it which both fascinated and worried him. Setting it aside for further research – after all, he had no idea what it was – he delved back into the trunk.

His mother had left in her school trunk a fascinating little jewellery box, made out of some dark wood, with a gold clasp keeping it shut; for ages, Alex couldn't manage to open it. At last, in desperation, remembering the way he had had to give blood to be able to access his accounts at Gringotts, he pricked his finger, and squeezed a little blood onto the clasp. It glowed for a second, the entire box warming in his palm, before clicking open.

Inside, was a mess of gold and silver chains – nothing very exciting, Alex noted, sifting through them, but fun nonetheless. One necklace had the pendant of an 'H' on it; another was a charm bracelet, with a little broomstick, an owl, a witch's hat, and a cauldron on it. One chain – the longest – had a little hourglass shape on it; another held a small mirror, and another long silver chain had a tiny box-pendant, which, when Alex opened it, and peered inside, fascinated by the idea of a box as jewellery, was enormous on the inside. Tentatively, he poked at it, and was slightly shocked to find that he could fit his whole hand inside the tiny opening.

Magic, it seemed, could do _anything_.

He set aside the little jewellery box, unsure of what he should, or could, do with it, and deciding to leave it at home for the moment, rather than take it to school with him. Jewellery was for girls, after all, and there was no point leaving himself open to be teased right from the beginning.

Alex was about to go on searching through his mother's trunk when Ian opened the door to his room.

Offering his nephew a quick smile, he said, rather tersely, "You've got a visitor."

Frowning, Alex stood. "Who?"

Ian shrugged. "I think they want to introduce themselves to you."

Alex frowned a little more deeply, but shrugged, heading downstairs to the sitting room which was where Ian said the mysterious 'visitor' was waiting for him.

The man who met his eyes was tall and dressed in a plain black suit, with a white shirt and a high collar, over which he wore what looked like an old-fashioned teachers gown. He had a long walking stick in one hand, and held a black cape – not unlike Alex's own school cloak – over the other arm.

"You must be Alexander." He said, quietly. "I'm Samuel."

Alex looked up at him, eyes wide, and not a little confused. "Um – yes." He said, slowly. "I'm Alex." He paused. "Do I know you? _Should_ I know you?"

The man – Samuel – offered him a cold smile. "I'm your uncle. Your mother's brother."

"Oh!" Alex nodded, quickly. "Ian mentioned you."

"'Ian'?" Samuel raised an indolent eyebrow at the younger man, leaning in the doorway, watching him carefully. "Not '_Uncle_ Ian'?"

"He doesn't like it." Alex shrugged, calmly. "So I just call him Ian."

"You can call me Uncle Samuel if you would prefer." Samuel didn't look particularly thrilled by the idea, but the fact he made the offer nonetheless made Ian relax minutely.

He very nearly smiled at Alex's response.

"Do I have to?" he asked, rather unwillingly. "I don't know you, you see." He added, quickly, aware that he might have been rude. "It wouldn't make sense."

Samuel's smile was a little warmer this time. "It would be much more sensible for you to call me simply 'Samuel', I agree. I'm glad to see you have a grasp of practicalities."

"Thank you." Alex said, a little doubtfully.

"May I have a seat, please?" Samuel glanced once again at Ian, who inclined his head. "We need to talk seriously, Alexander."

"My name is Alex." The boy said, firmly.

"Your name is Alexander, and I will call you such." Samuel said, equally firmly. "Names are important, Alexander, and you will never make an impression with such a common name as 'Alex'."

"I'm not trying to make an impression on you, though." Alex shrugged. "You're family, I don't need to."

"Family values are a useful thing," Samuel agreed, repressively, "But it is as well to get accustomed to what you will be being called by Wizarding society."

Alex frowned again. "I don't understand; why would Wizarding society be important to me?"

"I have no children," once again, Ian noted the brief spasm of almost-regret which passed over the dark man's face. "And I do not intend to have any. As such, you are my heir, and the Mortimers play a part in Wizarding society which you will have to fill."

"And I have to be called Alexander to fill that role?"

"You will understand when you have a better grasp of our world." Samuel said, coolly, which was apparently as near as he got to sympathetic. "To further that end, I have engaged a tutor to teach you the basics of etiquette and such. Provided Ian has no objections, you will come to my house for two hours every day for the next fortnight, from eleven until one; you will have lessons with the tutor until then, and lunch with me so that we can," his lip curled ever so slightly, "'get to know each other'."

Ian struggled to hide his smile. "I've got no objections." He said, calmly, "So long as Alex is happy with that. And if he complains about you…"

"Yes, the agreement his over, I understand." Samuel shrugged, and stood. When Alex stayed seated, he cleared his throat, meaningfully. "When an elder stands, you also get up." He said, fake-gently, a clear bite in his tone. Alex shot to his feet. "I can see we're going to have to start with the real basics." The man sighed. "But you will work hard; in two weeks, the Solstice festivals will start. I expect to be able to introduce you as my heir to the important families, and if you shame our family in any way, you will not be pleased with the consequences."

Alex nodded, face flushing. "Um, Samuel?"

A slight, barely covered, wince. "Yes?"

"Will I be Alexander Mortimer, or Rider?"

"Mortimer, of course." He glanced, slightly mockingly, at Ian. "Rider is a surname without history and without respect. As my heir, you have my name in our world."

"Not at Hogwarts, though." Alex pointed out, reasonably, as he saw it.

"That's because Albus Dumbledore is a progressive moron who is intent on ruining decent Wizarding society." Samuel said, bluntly. "But your tutor will fill you in on proper pureblood ideas." He delved in his pocket, and produced a handkerchief. "Hold this at eleven tomorrow morning; it will bring you to my house." Alex nodded, and was about to reply, when his new and worrying uncle disappeared.

He glanced back at Ian, who shrugged, and said, surprisingly apologetically, "Sorry, Alex; I agreed because – it will be useful if you can fit in at these things. You never know when you're going to need to, and Samuel could be useful to you, don't you think?"

Alex looked up at his uncle, suddenly and whole-heartedly appreciating the way Ian had brought him up. He might often have been absent, slightly distant, a little cold, maybe – but he had never made him feel as small in the past ten years as Samuel Mortimer had made him feel in the last half an hour. Ian's expression was almost – nervous – and it was something Alex had never seen on his guardian's calm, unruffled face before. Swallowing, and taking a deep breath, he said, as firmly as he could manage, "It's a way of learning about this place, right? So – it's bound to be useful."

* * *

Alex spent the rest of that day sorting through his mother's trunks, sorting out what he wanted to take with him to Hogwarts, and what he wanted to leave behind; then he helped Ian put the trunks back up in the attic, and started packing his own.

The books he kept out, starting on the most basic, and beginning to read, fascinated by the idea of a society based entirely on witches, wizards, and magical creatures. Ian, watching from the sidelines, careful not to be too obvious, only hoped that Samuel didn't ruin this for their nephew.

* * *

Alex was bubbling with energy, thoroughly excited about all the new things he'd learnt, by the time he thumped down the stairs for dinner. Jack grinned at him, and Ian even managed a quick smile, his nephew's own enthusiasm almost infectious. 

"Ian, guess what?" Alex asked, practically bouncing in his seat as he spoke. 

"What?" Ian said, his long-suffering tone offset by the slight smile still hovering around the corners of his mouth.

"I can do _magic_!"

One eyebrow raised slightly. "Well, yes, I thought you knew that already…"

"Not _really_, not like _really_ knowing." Alex pointed out, with the inimitable logic of an eleven year old boy. "I mean, I knew I was _going_ to be able to, but I didn't really _know_…" he grinned, widely, as Jack passed him the potatoes. "I did a spell, all by myself."

Ian paused for half a second, reflecting, rather despairingly, at how magic had become a common place topic at the dinner table, then nodded. "Oh? Which spell?"

Alex's eyes were bright with excitement, his grin even wider than before. "It's this spell I found in one of my books, it's called 'Lumos', it makes light…"

"Go on, then." Jack told him, with a grin. "Show us!" She met Ian's slightly disapproving glance with a shrug and a grin. 

Sighing, Ian realised that Alex's eyes were fixed on his face, waiting for his assent. "Oh, alright. Just the once, alright, Alex?"

He nodded, solemnly, but couldn't quite wipe the remnants of the smile off his face. "I've got my wand here." He informed them, fishing it out of one pocket, and holding it out at arms length over the potatoes. Ian carefully moved them – and the glasses, salt and pepper, and vase of flowers – out of the way, in case anything went wrong. Alex, intent on his spellwork, didn't notice.

He frowned at his wand slightly, gripping it tightly, before saying, forcefully, "_Lumos_!"

The light his wand produced was a little half-hearted, a little weak, but it was a definite light nonetheless. Jack clapped; Ian nodded his approval.

"Nice one." Jack grinned at him, and Alex beamed, looking at Ian to see his reaction.

"Well done." He told him, rather gravely. "Now, supper?"

Alex, already putting his wand away Ian noted approvingly, simply nodded. 

* * *

That night, Ian allowed himself the rare luxury of a very large glass of red wine, after both Jack and Alex had gone to bed. It was a good, smooth vintage, he noted absently, remembering the lessons their father had given him and John on wine when they were in their mid-teens.

"If you have to drink yourself stupid, I want to make sure you don't waste a perfectly good bottle of wine to do it." He had told them, half-sternly, and they had dutifully listened, learnt and inwardly digested the lessons he had given them.

John had never quite picked it up, he remembered with a smile, taking another sip of wine. But he hadn't seemed to mind; they'd had fun, and that had been enough for him, then.

Things had changed later – after he'd married Helen, after Alex had come along. Everything had been darker, nothing was as simple. Well, he'd joined MI6 by then, had been working for them for years, and they were neither of them sixteen year olds. Everything was more serious, of course it was… but John had had two worlds to worry about, his wife's world and his own, with the rising threat of Scorpia, and the re-emergence of that same frigidity between Russia and the UK which had characterised the very early stages of the Cold War. Alex had been their sole preoccupation then… and Ian was fast losing him to a world he neither understood nor trusted; a world his sister-in-law had deliberately given up to keep her son safe.

Hopefully, Samuel Mortimer would be able to give Alex some guidance where Ian couldn't; but he didn't hold out much hope. The best he could do was make sure that Alex didn't go too badly astray, and hope for the best.

* * *

The next day at five to eleven precisely, Samuel 'cracked' into the sitting room where Alex was waiting, Ian having headed to work at seven thirty, as he always did. Jack had asked Alex, rather reluctantly, if he really wanted someone with him, and Alex, seeing that, though Jack was probably just about OK with him performing magic, the idea of meeting a 'real live wizard' was not one she found appealing, had told her that he would be fine.

Faced with this new uncle's set expression and black robes, he wasn't entirely sure that was the case.

"Alex." Samuel nodded at him, and held out a hand, which Alex took, rather reluctantly. "I trust you're well?"

"Yes, thank you." Alex nodded, politely, eyes flickering from his uncle's face to the wand the man was still holding, business-like, between long, elegant fingers. "And you?"

"Very well, thank you." he nodded, and flicked the wand, muttering something under his breath.

Alex got the sudden, uncomfortable impression of being squeezed and spun through a very tight tube, before they slid out the other side with a pop, and Samuel's hand steadied him, preventing an otherwise inevitable fall.

"You will have to work on that." Samuel told him rather sternly, but Alex simply nodded, too engrossed in taking in his surroundings to mind about the distinctly unimpressed tone of his uncle's voice.

The room was light, despite the dark, highly polished wooden floor and wall panelling. The windows were enormous, with huge blue curtains pulled back and artistically tied, like something out of the period dramas Jack was so fond of. A fire place – empty at the moment, but generously proportioned all the same – stood opposite the door, marble and finely carved; the room held three separate bookshelves, a desk, and several thick patterned rugs which were carefully positioned to make sure that the sun didn't decolour the wooden floor.

"This was my late wife's study." Samuel told him, emotionlessly. "Since she has no further use for it, you may use it as your own."

"What was her name?" Alex asked, quietly.

"Callisto." He told him, face still totally emotionless. "She died three years ago. Now, I assume you would like to be shown round?"

Alex paused before agreeing, remembering Ian's advice on not rushing into things. "Yes, please." He said, finally. "If it's not too much trouble."

Samuel smiled, almost approvingly. "At least your basic manners won't need too much work." He nodded, then checked his watch. "Your tutor will be arriving at twelve today – normally your lessons will last for the full two hour. You have eleven years of work to catch up on – too much to manage before the Solstice, sadly, but you will _not_ cause our family to lose face, do you understand? It's bad enough that my heir is a Muggle-raised Half-Blood, without your behaviour letting us down."

Alex nodded, a little cowed. "Yes, sir." He followed Samuel out of the room in silence, and only found the courage to speak up after nearly a minute of silence. "So – will I get to learn magic in my lessons?" he asked, in a small voice.

Samuel treated him to a sharp look. "Do you _want_ to learn magic?" he asked.

Alex looked up at him. "Yes." He said, fervently. "Please."

His uncle considered it for a few moments. "Then I suppose we could probably work something out." He nodded. "So long as your tutor tells me that you're coming along well."

* * *

The tour Alex got of the house was sufficiently impressive; though not palatial, Ian's house in Chelsea could easily have fitted inside it several times over.

"The Mortimers have lived here since the mid-1600s." Samuel told him, explaining the history of the various parts of his house. "Parts of the Master Suites date back to 1664, and the foundations of the East Wing were laid in 1670. This was the first house in England to hold one of Molière's plays, in November 1670." At that point, Samuel paused, saying, almost wistfully, "We were a greater house then, of course; rivals to the Malfoys, even – which explains the house, of course." He shook himself. "But no matter. Some of us are meant to rise, and others not; we do what we can."

The rest of the house was equally impressive. The West Wing had partially burnt down in the 'Dark Years', as Samuel was careful to call them, but it was slowly being rebuilt, and the grounds were amazing. It was literally like something out of one of the Pride and Prejudice films Jack was so fond of watching; stylised, ornamental gardens, with hedges and flowers in elaborate patterns, and a huge, ornamental lake at the end of a fastidiously smooth lawn, overlooked by the large, brooding house, with it's huge, watchful windows.

Looking up at the house, Alex couldn't help but dread the day he inherited all this; and Samuel, with all his strange references and obscure history, wasn't helping at all.

"You have to be careful of the grindylows," he said, perfectly casually, when Alex commented on the lake, "But the fishing's quite good." When Alex had mentioned how clean everything was, he was told that the 'house elves' looked after it; when he talked politely about the décor, some obscure Wizarding decorator was referenced. Copies of The Daily Prophet were in every room, the portraits – "dating back to our ancestor, the first important Mortimer, Henry. But of course, like any decent family, we can trace our lineage back to one of the Founders" – moved and waved at him, or looked down their noses at him, and Alex would have sworn that he felt someone watching him everywhere he went in the house.

* * *

Finally, it was twelve o'clock, and he was ushered back into the study which was apparently his – though he wasn't sure he entirely liked the idea of using a dead woman's study.

A tall, rather shabby man stood there, possibly slightly younger than Ian, and at least a decade younger than Samuel. "Mr. Mortimer?"

Samuel inclined his head the slightest fraction, eyes running over his employee's clothes, his face set into cold lines. "Yes. Mr. Remus Lupin?"

He nodded with a smile. "And you must be Alex." The amber-brown eyes were warm on his face, and Alex returned the smile fully, relieved to find someone who seemed at least half-way normal in what increasingly appeared to be a weird and confusing world.

"Alexander." Mortimer corrected him, coolly. "Please remember to call him by his proper name." He looked at Alex, and nodded to him. "I will return in an hour. Mr. Lupin, Alexander." He left without any further pleasantries.

For a long moment, Alex and Remus Lupin eyed each other, before Alex broke the silence, clearing his throat rather nervously, and said, quietly,

"Please call me Alex."

Lupin offered him a tiny smile. "If you want. We'd better be sure that your uncle doesn't hear, though."

"Yes."

"So – how much _do_ you know about Wizarding Society?" Lupin asked, heading to one of the large winged armchairs by the windows, and pulling a large, heavy-looking text book out of his bag. 

Alex followed him, perching a little awkwardly on the other chair. "I know that there're Light families and Dark families, and that about a decade ago, there was a Civil War of some kind…?"

Lupin nodded, interestedly. "Anything else?"

"Well, I did some reading, yesterday, and it said that most of that Dark guy's followers got off – because of some curse which made them do whatever he said?" he frowned slightly, "But… how could he possibly hold it on so many people at one time?"

Lupin, who had smiled a little when Alex had talked about the 'Dark guy', gave him a tired look. "He couldn't. But he had followers who would have been willing to hold it on them for him; it was a terrifying time, Alex, and you'll find out about it soon enough. I'm just here to teach you about Pureblood customs, and suchlike. History is out of the question for the moment." Alex nodded, a little reluctantly, and Lupin smiled again, though it looked a little forced. "On which note, never, _ever_ call the Dark Lord 'that Dark guy' in public. It's You-Know-Who, or don't mention him at all…"

* * *

When Alex got back to Chelsea, at three, his head was swimming. Lupin had left at one, with a smile, and the promise that he would bring Alex a book he could read on Solstice celebrations the next day. Lunch with Samuel had been by far the most trying part of the day, as Samuel had corrected his manners all the way through, ordering him 'not to slouch', and 'not to slurp', or to 'cut his food properly', not lean his elbows on the table, keep his elbows in when he ate, use his napkin properly… the list was apparently endless.

After that, however, came the part of the day which was most interesting – the promised magic lessons. Samuel had run through what he called the 'basic spells', Lumos, a basic Levitation Charm, a child's version of the Summoning Charm, with a severely limited radius, but useful nonetheless. By the time he got home, he had learned a grand total of five spells, and was feeling much better for it.

Ian was tired that night, and Alex had long since learnt not to press anything for fear of upsetting the man, but he did give Ian a shortened version of how his day had gone when the man asked, getting the usual 'fine – nothing interesting', in return for his own question on his uncle's day.

Despite the strangeness of it all, despite the way Samuel acted towards him, and despite the worries which seemed to hang heavier on him when he was in 'the Wizarding world' – he was looking forward to tomorrow.

* * *

Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Send me a line?

C'mon, reviewers get Easter Eggs. I've upgraded from cookies.

-amitai


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